First Parish Unitarian UniversalistChristmas Eve Homily
By the Reverend Diane Teichert
First Parish Unitarian Universalist - Canton, MA
December 24, 2004
For many of us, this is not an easy time of year. We would want to revel in the deep darkness, snuggle up with friend and family by the warmth of a glowing fire, and enjoy a slower pace of life. But, instead, our losses (both recent and remote) reverberate in the dark, long and cold nights, and we silently fear the holiday festivities, that they sadly will not be as we would, in our heart of hearts, wish--due to death, divorce or other changed circumstances that distance us from those we love.
This is how it is for me this year. Last year Christmas Day was the last time I saw my best friend Susan truly alive. She was at home from the hospital after a second round of chemotherapy for leukemia, so my family brought our Christmas Dinner to her house. She was in great spirits and it was a fine time. I recall that her husband turned to me at the beginning of the meal, to see if I wanted to offer a blessing (people do that to their clergy friends, you see) and all I could muster up, because it was everything I was feeling in the moment, was “how thankful we are to be sharing Christmas with Susan!”
We didn’t know, of course, that in a couple days she would be severely ill and would die on the 30th, of the effects of the chemotherapy. And, so, I’ve been fearing, Christmas Day this year.
Yet, if the Christmas story is about anything it is about hope. It doesn’t promise us a life without sadness or even without fear, but it does call us to be our better selves and our world to be a better place.
These are callings of hope. It tells of the birth of a baby who will grow to be a very wise man, infused with a love so inclusive it reached out to all, with a vision of non-violent change to bring peace and justice to his troubled world. His was a message of hope. One that requires courage, yes, but hope.
His world was troubled, in much the same way ours is today. (One wonders, in fact, if it has ever really been otherwise).
But, be that as it may, remember the readings from the Gospel of Luke tonight. Luke is the only one of the four Christian gospels that tells of Jesus’ humble origins in a manger–and Luke also goes out of its way to set his birth in the public context, the political realities of the day, of who was in power.
Early in Chapter One we read, “In the days of Herod, king of Judea…” Chapter Two begins, “In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to his own city…” Chapter Three begins, “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate being governor of Judea, and Herod being tetrarch of Galilee…”
Those were the times of Jesus. The enrollment was a census, a required documentation, a method of control of the Jews by the Romans. Pontius Pilate and Herod were cruel rulers. In fact, in only a few decades after Jesus’ crucifixion, they would destroy the Temple in Jerusalem.
Those are our times, too, in a way. I don’t mean to suggest that US occupation of Iraq directly parallels the Roman occupation of Palestine. This morning I read in the newspaper about the people of Fallujah returning to their town, which was utterly destroyed by US and other forces in the name of ending the insurgency in Iraq. We’re told that the city is in ruins, utter destruction, flattened, but in this morning’s photo, as in most news coverage, it is not shown.
Those Fallujans wishing to return must document their existence with iris scans and fingerprints. Iris scans and electronic fingerprints: a modern day census.
We can well imagine the same during Jesus’ time. There he is, at age 12 or 13, with his buddies, high on a hill overlooking Nazareth. From there, they can also see the neighboring town, flattened by the Romans, because it was the home of some Jewish insurgents they’d captured. Some of the boys are bragging, about how they will take up arms and join the insurgency, and get rid of the Romans once and for all.
And, young Jesus looks out over the scene and thinks to himself, “there must be a better way.”
And some years later, he finds himself on another hill, declaring to his disciples and a great multitude of people, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to every one who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Luke 6:27-31)
There must be a better way, today, as well. There must be a better way than violence to end violence, a better way than war to end wars, a better way than using weapons of mass destruction to destroy weapons of mass destruction.
Where’s our imagination? Where’s our courage? Where’s our hope?
Our lives, with all our joys and our sorrows, our Christmas mirth and merriment as well as our dark doldrums, everything about our lives--like the birth of Jesus and the rest of his short life-- are set in a public context.
As a Unitarian Univeralist colleague [the Rev. Steve Landale of Bell Street Chapel in Providence RI] so aptly wrote recently, “Just like the Gospel of Luke begins with the naming of those in power, so too does the news of our day often focus on those in power. Bush. Cheney, Rumsfeld, Ashcroft. Powell is leaving, Rice is staying. Surely these people are important. But, perhaps today, as [in the time of Jesus], the real news remains unnoticed in some manger – or on some street corner [or in some New England parish hall]. Perhaps a Revolutionary Love is being birthed in the most ordinary and humble of places. Look around, and you may see Power being turned on its head: the first made last, and the last made first.”
That same Revolutionary Love is being kindled in you, in me, among us… on this dark and hope-filled night.
Amen. And so may it be!